This week’s question comes to us from Kylie Gusset:

What makes you feel wonderful?

Ok, yeah. So… the last couple of newsletters were heavy. Dead fathers. Crazy families. Feelings. (Y’all were so nice with your replies. Thank you.) This was all followed by a two week Christmas break where it rained every day and started to feel like cabin fever. On top of that there’s… the news. And yes, at some point we will talk about the news, especially because it’s unforgiving and relentless and if I were to mention “the incident” at the beginning of this newsletter there’s a pretty good chance “the incident” could mean a totally other incident by the time you read this newsletter. Under fascism, the incidents are plentiful and the horror remains unrelenting. So…

For your sake as well as mine, this morning I went looking through the question pile for something a little light to start off the new year and Kylie came to the rescue. Thanks Kylie. Let’s talk about things that make us feel wonderful. And no, this is not a copout. Remembering, and holding on to the things that make us feel wonderful are fuel.

In some cases they remind us of what we’ve lost. In other cases they remind us of what we’re fighting for. And, on a really good day, they remind us of what we’re still able to achieve despite the weight of absolutely everything trying to keep us from doing so.

Last week I moved into a new art studio. It’s a little smaller than my previous one so when I got all my stuff in there I realized that I’d have to make some hard decisions about what needed to stay and what could go. I spent an hour sitting in the corner annoyed that everything didn’t fit and then I texted my friend Adam a photo of all my crap piled up in the new space along with the message “studio setup day,” which was actually shorthand for “fuck new studio setup day nothing fits and I think I’ve made a horrible decision.” Here’s the thing about my friend Adam: his joy is annoyingly infectious, and it’s 100% sincere. So when he texted back “I love studio setup day!!” (Yes, two exclamation marks.) I realized I needed to adopt his attitude. After sighing deeply and muttering “fuck you, Adam” under my breath, I got out my notebook and measuring tape. I started sketching out where things could fit. I made a list of things I needed. I found my drill in one of the boxes. A couple of hours after getting his text I’d built shelving units, loaded them up with my stuff, mounted my tool chargers on the wall, created a list of next steps, and a list of things I needed to run to the hardware store for. So yes, studio setup day is wonderful.

Sometimes you just need to be reminded of how lucky you are to have a place to unpack all your boxes into.

I figure it’ll take me another week, maybe two, before I’m making new paintings in that space and it’ll feel wonderful to make those. It’ll also be wonderful to share those paintings with all of you.

At the risk of turning the rest of this newsletter into a listicle, while absolutely also turning the rest of this newsletter into a listicle here’s some other stuff that makes me feel wonderful. (Also, small aside: it’s weird to say “wonderful.” I keep wanting to downplay it to “good.” Things that make me feel good. It feels very self-conscious to say something makes you feel wonderful. Also, a little dorky. Fuck it. Let’s feel wonderful this year. Not only do we deserve it, but we fucking need it.)

Opening a new record feels wonderful. Going to the record store is great. Finding a record you want also feels great. But getting it home and opening it up? That’s the sweet spot right there. Are you going to attempt to slice it open with your fingernail and tell yourself that this is the one time you won’t get a papercut? (Stop. You will get a papercut.) Are you going to look for the weak seam in the plastic and risk bending the corner? (Stop. You are absolutely going to bend the corner.) Are you going to pull out your trusty pen knife and run it along the opening? (Yes, and here’s a pro tip: the duller the blade the better. A sharp blade will slice right into the cover itself. And never ever use a razor unless you’re a professional vinyl record opener.) But that moment when you first open the new record, pull out the vinyl, and then carefully peek to see if there’s anything else inside (lyric sheet, sticker, etc) is pure bliss.

Being in line at a sandwich place for lunch, turning around and seeing a friend you haven’t seen in over a year and immediately hugging each other feels wonderful. This happened to me last week. We ended up eating together and catching up. Totally out of the blue.

Yesterday I had to make a small repair in our apartment. It required me to come up with a solution, go to the hardware store, buy wood, make a thing with a saw and a sander, then attach it. And man, when I popped it in and heard that satisfying click that meant it was working as it was supposed to… it felt wonderful. I love being able to fix small shit like that. I’m coursing with endorphins just thinking about it a day later.

Hearing “That’s great advice Dad, thanks” will always feel wonderful. Knowing that I was able to help my daughter, even if it was just as a sounding board. Even if it was for the most inconsequential of things like “how do you mix peanut butter” (Pro tip: drill and a clean paint mixing bit. Works for tahini too.) hearing that phrase will put me in a good mood for days.

Finding the leading end of the roll of tape feels wonderful.

Watching Erika’s face light up when she opens a Christmas gift feels wonderful. One of my hidden superpowers is that I’m really good at giving gifts. A few years ago I watched as she ripped open a large box that was filled with packing peanuts, thrust her arm into it, jumped three feet in the air, and then screamed “What the fuck is that?!?” That turned out to be a stuffed badger. We named her Carol. This year, for reasons we’ve already discussed at length, I didn’t have as much time for Christmas gifting. However, as I was walking back from my father’s funeral I walked past a small gift shop that had mounted ceramic jackass heads that said “We’re jackasses but we’re happy” in Portuguese, and that felt right, so I stopped and grabbed one.

Getting new baby photos from your friends always feels wonderful.

Listening to Fishbone always feels wonderful. Seriously, none of you are listening to enough Fishbone, and you’ve had the opportunity to be listening to Fishbone for over twenty years. I’m listening to them right now. Some of you younger folks might be wondering who the fuck I’m talking about, to which I say… you’re welcome.

Getting a surprise gift box from friends full of fun stuff from the city they live in is always wonderful. (I’m currently wearing a beanie hat from Movie Madness in Portland. Do I know what it is? No, but I want to!)

Riding my bike around town feels wonderful. (Less so when it’s raining, which is a large part of what was driving me nuts last week.) Riding through the city, especially if there’s a warm breeze in the evening, and the sun is in the right place, and I can smell every restaurant as I’m riding through The Mission will always make me feel like I’m a part of the city that I’m riding through. It’s humbling in the most amazing way. People are crossing the street, people are walking home from work, people are picking up their kids, seventeen different types of vehicles are navigating the same stretch of street and absolutely no one is in sync but we’re all making it mostly work because a city is humanity’s most amazing broken machine. And when it doesn’t work it’s tragic, but it mostly does work.

All of these things happened in the last couple of weeks. All of these things that happened in the last couple of weeks made me feel wonderful.

And yes, there were a lot of things that happened in the last couple of weeks that most certainly did not feel wonderful. In no way I am minimizing those. I am listing these things out as reminders for why we fight. Your list may be very different from mine. I hope it is. (I want to know what’s on your list!) I’m listing these out as reminders of why it’s worth it to hold on to and preserve the things we love so that someday we can sit down together and share those lists with each other, because we shouldn’t be selfish with our lists. I bet there’s something on your list of what makes you feel wonderful that would make me feel wonderful, but it hasn’t even occurred to me! And vice versa. Maybe you’ve got spicy mango on your list. It’s wonderful, right? Maybe you’ve got a good molotov recipe. Wonderful, let’s share it.

Maybe one of us will knock an ICE goon on his ass. I guarantee that’ll feel wonderful. Like ice cream at the perfect temperature, or a Thin Mint right out of the freezer.

2026 is the year we win. That’ll feel wonderful too.

Favor: if you share this newsletter out on social media (not-so-gentle hint), please add something that makes you feel wonderful in your post. ❤️

🙋 Got a question? Ask it. I’ll probably use it to go off on a tangential rant, but hey…

💰 Enjoying the newsletter? Gimme $2/mo and I promise to use it to make art.

📢 The first Presenting w/Confidence workshop of the year is scheduled for Jan 22 & 23. Get your ticket!

🔬 Erika has a Design Research workshop coming up on Jan 15. Get your ticket!

🧺 Gilly & Billy enamel pins are back in stock!

💀 Still have a few Don’t Build the Torment Nexus zines in stock.

❤️ Once again, thank you to everyone who sent a note about my father’s passing. It sincerely meant a lot to read those.